Take a Bow
by McFiddleStan
Summary: Loki is a big Broadway star, coming down from the high of another performance, shedding the character with the help of his new assistant. A big surprise shows up at his dressing room door; a figure from his past, before he was a star. The reason he was a star. Old feelings and past resentments surge to the surface almost immediately. Loki only hopes he makes it through unscathed.


—-

 _All the world is a stage_

 _And everyone has their part_

 _But how was I to know which way the story'd go_

 _How was I to know you'd break_

 _You'd break my heart_

—-

Loki rushed through the narrow hallway, coughing to clear his throat of the makeshift fog that filled the stage for the final moments of the play. By the time he reached the haven of his dressing room, his neck tie was undone, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. The hurried shouts and stomps of people working backstage were blissfully drowned out as Darcy, his new young assistant, quickly closed the door behind him.

"Great show tonight, Boss," Darcy chirped as she took the discarded tie Loki handed over and waited to take his costume jacket and vest. Loki chuckled a thank you as she turned away. He urged her several times already to just call him by his name, but she insisted on calling him Boss, like he was gangster in the 1930s. Darcy returned with a glass of water and Loki smiled his thanks before taking a long drink.

"It isn't necessary for you to say it every night, you know."

"Why not? I'm being completely honest. Tonight's show was _really_ good."

Loki set the glass down on a small corner of the vanity, where his most treasured items were kept: a scarf an admirer gifted him on his 30th birthday draped across the top of the mirror; postcards from friends who had visited various parts of the world tucked between the frame and each corner of the mirror; and, of course, various pots, bottles, and tubes of his favored brand of stage makeup scattered across the table. Loki always promised himself he would keep it neater, but it never seemed to stick.

Loki's thighs and calves ached in relief as he lowered himself to the padded chair. He was taking another sip of water when Darcy returned from the closet. They had a routine now, so Loki sat up straighter, waiting for Darcy to take her place.

"That had to be a record tonight," she commented, pulling a straight-toothed comb from the pocket of her sweater.

"What's that?" Loki raised a hand to pick at the loosening edge of his wig at his temple.

"The standing ovation!" Darcy's smile was wide as she slipped her finger under the back of the wig, moving it along the back of Loki's neck to life the rest of it. "Seven minutes and forty-six seconds. I counted, but I double-checked with Sam, one of the guys who works backstage."

"A stagehand," Loki offered, ducking his head so Darcy could remove the wig completely.

"Right. Stagehand. I knew that." She smiled and placed the wig on its holder, then quickly turned back to Loki. "Is that a record?" Her eyes, blue as a summer morning sky, were big as saucers, expectant.

Loki cocked a brow, playful, but trying not to be condescending — for once. "Personal or ever?" He cut off whatever Darcy's answer was going to be with a quick shake of his head and a wave of his hand. "I am almost one hundred percent sure it's not for theatre in general. As for me, personally, I don't track that sort of thing, so I wouldn't really know."

Her response was to half-scoff, half-laugh, and roll her eyes. "You're such an artiste, Boss. I'll take care of the wig later. Do you need your evening clothes?"

"Yes, thank you, dear." Loki rose and shed the rest of his costume, placing it on the chair for Darcy to take care of. He moved slowly, as his body ached with age and fatigue. To his own shock and surprise, he was closing in on forty and his once lithe and agile body was beginning to feel it. Loki wasn't always particularly kind to his body — especially in his twenties — but he considered himself lucky he would still be offered roles of characters ten, sometimes fifteen, years his junior.

Darcy returned holding up Loki's hunter green silk robe for him to slip on, which he did before sitting once more. He was looking forward to the moment later that night when he would be able to sink into a hot bath. Darcy disappeared again, into the next room which had a clothing rack and wash basin. Loki drank more water then reached for his jar of cold cream. Slathering the cream across his face, he was going through the tedious job of removing the stage makeup when a quiet knock came at his door.

"Damn," he muttered, swiping a hand towel over one eye. He assumed it was a stagehand with notes on the performance for the night, since it was the last show of the week, but damn if he wanted to speak about it now. "Darcy?"

"I've got it," she called as she sprinted to the door. Loki heard murmurings of a short conversation but could make out no words. So, he continued to remove his makeup. "Bouquet of roses for you," Darcy said. By the way her voice wavered, Loki sensed she was moving around to put them away.

"Oh. Lovely," Loki said from behind the towel. A glob of moisturizer ready on the back of his hand, Loki rubbed it across his face. "From whom?" he asked belatedly.

"An old friend," a voice, familiar but changed, said from behind Loki.

He went still for the briefest of moments, his eyes still closed. _It can't be_. Could it? Opening his eyes, Loki met the warm gaze of his former lover, standing there, in a suit that likely cost the amount of Loki's wages for the whole run of the show. His heart swelled and ached; his stomach pitched and clenched. A familiar tilt to a mouth he once knew so well, and Loki wanted badly to run into his arms. Instead, he subtly cleared his throat, busying himself with the cleaning up of the mess of his makeup removal. He steadied himself, praying his voice was as strong as he willed it to be.

"Old is right," he said flippantly, his tone casual and cool, as if they'd just spoken two days ago, not two decades. "Forgotten the tools of the trade, have you?"

A soft chuckle, then, "Thanks."

And then it went quiet. Loki grew anxious and scrambled to find something to say to fill it. But his guest beat him to it.

"You were great out there tonight."

Well, shit. Under normal circumstances Loki would laugh or flirt his way through an unexpected compliment. Compliments, in general, were never easy for him to hear, but those old tricks of his wouldn't work with this blast from his past. They never had. Doing his best to look as calm as ever on the outside — because his insides were wreaking havoc — Loki dug into a small pouch on the vanity and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. He quietly said thank you and inhaled shortly.

"You tweaked something."

A brief pause; eyes flickered up to the mirror, narrowing. Suspicious.

"In the second act," he continued. "You did it a little differently a couple nights ago. Less comedic, more…satiric. Satiric worked better. Opening night was different, too."

Loki turned in his chair, careful not to hit anything with the lit end of the cigarette, to look Tony Stark in the eye. "You've seen this show three times?"

Tony shook his head. He hesitated, as if reluctant to admit that, and Loki saw him swallow thickly. "More."

Unsure what to do with that information, Loki turned to his mirror again and set down the cigarette. "I see. Well, I'm sure the cast will appreciate the patronage of the great Tony Stark."

"I didn't come for them, Lo."

And just like that, with that simple, casual utterance of a bygone nickname, Loki was thrust back, twenty years ago, when he was young, naive, and falling for one of the stage's most well-known names since Lionel Barrymore.

The tension that had built so quickly vanished just as easily when Darcy reentered the room. The bouquet of red roses was now in a vase that she placed on a small round table before disappearing again. Absurdly more comfortable with Darcy in the room, Loki willed her to return.

"Whatever the reason," he said more cheerfully than he felt, "Attendance is always appreciated." He sent Tony a quick smile, through the mirror, but looked away before he could see Tony's reaction. He needed something to do, so he took up the smoldering cigarette, tapping out the built-up ashes, and brought it to his lips.

"Clothes are ready," Darcy said, popping back up again.

Loki gave her a nod, stubbed out the cigarette, and rose. He slipped the robe off his shoulders, giving Tony but a glance at the pale, translucent skin beneath it, before disappearing behind a dressing screen, and handing the robe off to Darcy.

Tony cleared his throat. Loudly. And Loki couldn't help the smirk that curved his lips behind the screen. "Anyway. It's a good play. Odinson's writing has really improved since I last read his stuff."

Loki walked back around the screen, dressed now in thigh-hugging black slacks and an equally dark, equally form-fitting black dress shirt. He paused to finish adjusting the cuffs of the sleeves at his wrists and huffed a short chuckle. "You've not read his _stuff_ in a very long time, I presume."

His eyes, a sharper viridian somehow, surrounded by the black hair, black clothes, and pale skin, rose to meet Tony's. Tony didn't speak. He just stared, lips parted, as Loki lifted his chin, his long fingers drawing Tony's gaze as they moved around the slim column of his neck to fix his collar. Oh, yes, he remembered, that was a favorite part of Tony's to nuzzle and kiss and devour.

"Then again, you never really were a fan of his work, were you?"

Tony took a moment to respond; a jerky lift of his shoulder, the pursing of his lips. "I never said — it's not as if I — he was a fine writer. And actor. He just…" He looked away, chuckled to himself. "He was always a little Shakespeare in the Park. And, no, not like you."

Loki's lips twitched as he turned away, back to face the mirror, and picked up a hairbrush to run through his shoulder-length strands.

"I always felt he could do better. I was right."

Loki's eyes moved to Tony in the mirror. The look they exchanged lasted no more than a few seconds, but the tension had again quickly built up, interrupted by yet another knock on Loki's dressing room door. Tony shot an exasperated look at the door and clenched his jaw, Loki noticed. Darcy rushed out from wherever she was keeping busy and pulled it open enough to see who it was, greeting the new arrival with a cheerful, "Hello!"

"Hello, Darcy, how are you?"

Loki bit back a laugh and suppressed a smile at the way Tony tensed when Thor's booming voice filled the room. Keeping himself busy at the vanity, Loki met Thor's beaming smile through the mirror as he stepped into the room. He felt a sharp pang of… _something_ when he caught the almost forlorn look on Tony's face behind him.

"Tony Stark. Is that you?"

Tony jumped to attention and immediately offered his hand. "Thor."

Thor scoffed and batted Tony's hand away then moved in for a hard-gripping hug that lifted Tony off his feet. "Odin's ravens, how long has it been?" Tony laughed awkwardly as Thor set him on his feet again.

"Uh…"

"Twenty years," Loki answered for him, flatly, as he adjusted his belt. He looked away first when both Thor and Tony looked in his direction. Thor grinned, amused.

"It's good to see you, Stark. Are you in town long?"

Tony could barely take his eyes from Loki. "Uh, no. Just came in for a meeting, then heading back. I delayed my trip, so I could see the show tonight."

"Norns, you should have told me you were here. I could have made arrangements for you to sit with me. We could have had dinner. I would have liked to have had you as a special guest."

"He's already seen the show several times, Thor." Tony shot Loki a look. Loki didn't hide his smile this time.

"Have you? That means a lot to me, Stark. You know I always valued your opinion." Looking quite uncomfortable and staying tight-lipped, Tony only nodded. Oblivious, or simply on a high, Thor turned to Loki, taking a step forward. "Are you ready to go? The reservation is for ten."

Loki turned to face them both and his eyes drifted to Tony, who was looking back at him with an indiscernible expression. Part of Loki was irked — what did _Tony_ have to be upset about? But the other part of him was curious. He turned a bright grin to Thor. "Yes, but why don't you give me a moment? To see Darcy off," he added quickly at Thor's slightly raised brow. Thor offered a hand and Loki slipped his into it and giving it a squeeze. "Bring the car round. I should be ready by then."

Thor seemed to relax; he smiled, nodded, and leaned in to kiss Loki's cheek. "You were magnificent tonight. As always. My star." Loki just gave a quiet chuckle and grinned thinly. Again, with the compliments. "Stark." Thor offered Tony his hand this time and gave him a hearty shake, holding Tony's between his own massive paws. "It was very nice seeing you. I hope it doesn't take another twenty years before we meet again." Tony chuckled; cheerfully, but insincerely, Loki noted. "Please, if you're not busy, come join us and some of the cast and crew for a late dinner and drinks."

Tony glanced at Loki then smiled back at Thor. "Thanks for the offer, but I've got a flight to catch."

Thor nodded and released his hand. "Take care then. Don't be long, sweetheart," he said to Loki before closing the door behind him.

The room remained silent, now that it was just he and Tony. Loki grinned, hesitantly, when Tony set his gaze on him.

"So. You and Thor, huh?"

Loki's jaw tightened. Of course that was all Tony would concentrate on. "Do you care?"

"Do you want me to?"

Loki scoffed.

"I bet you feel pretty good about yourself right now."

"Come now, Stark," he said through a chuckle that had no trace of humor. "You know me better than that. Do I ever feel good about myself?"

Tony was all but glaring now and looked ready to explode when Darcy breezed in again, arm's full. "Jacket, coat, and scarf," she said, handing over each item to Loki. He took the jacket and coat and draped them over the chair, so he could wrap the scarf around his neck.

"Thank you, darling. You're free to go. Or you can join us at the restaurant, if you like."

"Oh. All right. I've got a phone call to make so I'll just see you tomorrow." She stepped back into the other room to grab her coat and purse.

"It's only a rehearsal," Loki remembered as she headed for the door. "You can take the day."

She shrugged, halfway out of the room. "Nothing else to do. Good night, Mr. Stark. 'Night, Boss."

"Good night," Loki replied for both. His genial expression faded as the door closed, waiting for Tony to say something. Because Tony always had to say something.

"Not really what you typically go for, is she?"

"Oh, for gods' sake," Loki muttered and reached for his suit jacket. "Clearly she's not. She's obviously more to _your_ liking."

"Didn't think you were the assistant type either."

 _Grasping at fucking straws_ , Loki thought with a sneer. So why was it angering him so much? He was visibly rattled, his movements sharp and edgy as he fixed the collar of his jacket. "I'm not. She's a friend of a friend. Wanted a start in the business. I'm giving her a shot."

Tony's lips were a tight line, his hands were tight fists in his pockets. "Never pegged you for charity either."

Loki huffed a sharp breath as he slipped on his long coat. "I didn't realize giving someone a chance at their dream was considered charity. I thought it made me a nice person, especially since I expect nothing in return." He stopped fussing with the coat and glared at Tony. "Then again, I'm not the director, am I?" Loki didn't wait for an answer. He just strode his way to the door.

"Hey, why are _you_ getting so bent out of shape?" Tony drew up short, quickly regaining his balance as Loki turned on him.

"Why are you _here_ , Anthony?"

They both froze at the name change, but neither looked away. "I thought I was coming to see a friend," Tony finally said into the deafening silence.

"A _friend_?" Loki asked incredulously. "You have no friends here. All you have is a trail of bodies you left behind. Those whose shoulders, or tragic backstories, you used and abandoned on your way to the top."

Tony scoffed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Loki's lip curled. "How is California, Anthony?"

"Wow," Tony mumbled, lowering his eyes. "And here I thought a couple of decades would've mellowed you."

"Mellowed? Oh, no. I had to really toughen myself up after you."

"Ha," he laughed, but it was more of a reaction to the gut punch Loki just delivered than anything else. Tony lifted his eyes to Loki, big, brown, and glistening. He tried a smile and finally whispered, "I just wanted to see you. Maybe…talk."

Loki realized he may have gone too far, if the look on Tony's face said anything. Retracting his fangs, so to speak, he pulled himself back, took a breath. "What more is there to say?" With that, he moved for the door. He went still again when Tony took hold of his hand.

"Loki."

So much of Loki wanted to give in, to reacquaint himself with everything that made him fall for Tony in the first place. There was the physical, yes. The deepest, darkest eyes of topaz that never failed to make Loki melt. Tony wasn't a large man, but he knew how to occupy space, and he was stronger than he looked. Loki used to dream of the way Tony maneuvered his body when they were together. But it was Tony's quick mind and sharp wit that enamored him from the start. As an actor, Tony ruled the stage, pulled attention unwittingly. As a director, his vision and focus raised his plays to an art unmatched at the time. As a writer….

Remembering now, the way Tony left him, the company, choosing fame and fortune over art and creativity; running towards dollar signs and the promise of a carefree life; instead of working for one beside someone who loved him, with people who admired him, Loki couldn't give in. He could taste bitter tears and clenched his jaw against them.

"Don't." The word came out, short, terse; an order.

Tony's grip loosened but he didn't release Loki's hand. Loki couldn't help but marvel at how rough and calloused Tony's hand felt against his much softer one. "Don't I even get a chance to explain?"

Taking his hand from Tony's grasp, Loki turned to face him, his dark brows drawn, and pale red lips in a tight line. "Explain? After all this time?"

Tony's shoulders moved, but Loki couldn't tell if it was a shrug or just an insecure gesture. "Yes."

"Why?" He watched, for a moment, as Tony stuttered and stumbled, but not give any genuine answer. "No," he said finally, softly but firmly. Tony's eyes pleaded with him, and Loki had to steel himself against them. "You will never convince me to go with you to California. And I will never convince you to stay here with me."

Tony made a sound in his throat and tried a smile. "So, what, Lo? We can't even…we can't be friends? It's possible, y'know, for people who don't…" He trailed off at the soft, wistful look on Loki's face.

"We were never just friends, Anthony." Unable to resist, Loki lifted a hand to Tony's face when he looked down and away, caressing his cheek. His skin was as soft as Loki remembered. "We were always more."

Tony leaned into Loki's hand, bringing his own up to cover it, and parted his lips to speak. Loki surged forward, resting his forehead against Tony's, effectively silencing him.

"We can't go back, darling. How long before one or the other gives in? How long until we're at each other's throats in public and in private? How long before you begin to use me as your muse…again?" Loki leaned back, his thumb tracing Tony's bottom lip. Tony stared in shock. "We'll only end up right back where we were twenty years ago. When you chose Hollywood over me."

Tears in his eyes, Tony adamantly shook his head, his fingers tightening around Loki's wrist. "No, Loki, I didn't…"

Loki stepped back, dropping his hand from Tony's. "Yes, you did. I was strong enough to weather that storm when I was young." Closing his eyes, forcing himself to keep the tears at bay, Loki swallowed the emotion down. "I wouldn't be able to now."

"Loki. I'm different now. I've changed."

"Have you?" A slim dark brow rose, a grin curved his lips. "Or have you just…gotten older and wiser?"

Tony said nothing, but Loki could see the wheels turning. "Please. What can I do here, babe? What can I say?"

The ache was deep and sharp in Loki's chest. It would be so easy, just to forget everything that happened. The hurt, the years of struggling, not just to deal with Tony's departure, but to watch his rise to becoming one of the most successful film directors in the world, with a different starlet on his arm each week. And to watch the creative light that shone so bright once before dim with every generic, contrived film that was released under his name. Each with a familiar plot or a character that hit too close to home. They were both different now. Too different. Tony was no longer the respected auteur setting the theatre world on fire. And Loki wasn't the fresh-faced androgynous neophyte he was when Tony came sweeping into his life.

They were both known names now, both respected in their corners of entertainment, both popular with their audiences, but Loki knew, in his heart, there was no mixing the two worlds. Not at present, anyway.

Knowing he was going to hate himself later for this, Loki took a deep breath. "Say goodbye, Anthony."

"Wh…no…"

Before Tony could speak again, and before he allowed himself to think it through, Loki took Tony's face in his hands and pressed their mouths together. The kiss was brief, but it said so much more than Loki could himself. He forced himself to pull away and then to walk away. And just before he reached the exit leading to the street, he heard the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life:

"Goodbye, Loki."


End file.
